Persona 5: No Romance
by Blankedty
Summary: [Slight AU] Adulthood comes with more nuances than explanations; love is not loving; sex is sometimes just sex; sometimes there is no romance. Observe the now fully grown ex-members of the Phantom Thieves as they work through their own issues and maintenance of their adult relationships. (Sequel to "Ungrown Up") [Multiple pairings]
1. No Romance

A/n: I'm a filmmaker now, but I still love me some Persona 5 (the video game; the anime is trash). This fiction, is a sequel to the slight AU titled "Ungrown Up". Please read that work first (or not. Your choice really). As this fiction develops, may maintain adult themes. I hope you enjoy.

 **No Romance**

In a "perfect" world men, women and the non-binary are respectable individuals. They do things, such as wait in line patiently behind fellow patrons at the convenience store. For Professor Sakura Futaba, that was not happening. It was perfectly 00:00 hours outside, pitch black night – January – cooler than she liked. The elements of the instance inspired her to cut in line, as to buy condoms in nothing but her lab coat, a snug fitted sweater dress, and faux fur winter boots.

Her latest squeeze was on his way over for a romp after some late night research and she didn't have any condoms on hand. Her roommate, the stupid fox she loved like a life partner - not a romantic one - Yusuke, didn't have any either. So there she was; rude and motivated enough to cut fellow patrons in line to buy condoms for a quick romp, only to be at odds with a store clerk that raised his hand to her face and muttered, "No, bitch. Back of the line."

Futaba glanced over her shoulder and saw there was one person behind her; an elderly woman who was flipping through magazines. She did not seem to notice Futaba cut her in the first place. Perhaps because she used her appearance to deceive others and took the opportunity to steal other items that could fit inside her handbag. "That woman is not even paying attention." She retorted.

"So? Back of the line."

"You know who I am? I'm a famous researcher – "

"Who skips old ladies to buy condoms. Yeah. I know. Back of the line."

Futaba wasn't one to throw around her success but figured why not since the store was located in the district of her laboratory. It did not matter, for her attempt failed miserably.

"Listen. I won't even take the change – just ring me up." She pulled out the bill and waved it in front of the clerk, who was unresponsive and didn't have time for what he believed was bullshit, "Next!" The clerk called.

Futaba was not normally quick to rage but was quick to violence after years of bopping Ryuji on the head and screaming competitions with Yusuke. Without even permitting the clerk to blink after his dismissal of her, she climbed atop the counter, grabbed him by his collar and shouted, "You will sell me condoms!"

"Sa-Sakura-san?"

At that very moment, Futaba peered over her shoulder to see her colleague and friend with benefits, Professor Williams, standing with a bottle of wine and his own box of condoms in hand. His dark skin and thick afro made it apparent that the only thing Japanese about him was his ability to speak the language and reside in the country.

Professor Tyrell Williams' hair was as a big as he was tall; he stood a few centimeters above Yusuke, without shoes on. He wore his winter jacket open, revealing his taste for crumbled flannel shirts and dark jeans. He was from the Bronx, New York and studied the sciences since he was six. He chose Japan to continue his research since the country aligned with his personal interests as a "BLERD" (Black-Nerd) and he enjoyed anime and Japanese video games.

"Williams…" Futaba released the collar of the bitch clerk and climbed off the counter. The clerk over dramatically gasped for air; the old woman left with her stolen magazine and various other goods. Futaba walked up to her sex partner and as if to fuse and become an amazing sex mecha of some sort, they tapped their individual box of condoms and smiled at each other. Hours later they had such loud sex, even while holding his pillow over his ears, Yusuke could not block the sound.

In the morning, Yusuke watched the two flirt in the kitchen. Tyrell sipped and sampled Futaba's famous over salted miso soup and tried to sneak kisses from her mouth. Sitting at the counter across from them, Yusuke wondered how much more he would put up with; he felt invisible in his own home. It always went that way.

For Head of Research, Professor Sakura Futaba, such a remarkable genius, flirting was not required. She'd be assigned a kohai to work alongside, and her brilliance the only aphrodisiac. Every other month it was someone else. Yusuke reached the point where he hoped his longtime friend and roommate would just choose one so he wouldn't have to remember someone else's name and feel awkward seeing the person in the nearby supermarket, for they all lived within proximity to the lab.

He ran into them so often, he began confusing them and desperately wanted to disappear to a Palace reminiscent of their days as Phantom Thieves. In this Palace, he'd escape polite small talk that eventually led to how Futaba was doing. What would Yusuke's "Escape Palace" look like? An empty apartment where he and Futaba watched television, drank her over salted miso soup and didn't have her ex-hookups trying to find them, but starving outside for her affection?

He liked the idea.

Tyrell disappeared into Futaba's bedroom, perhaps to get his things and Yusuke stared at the smiling young woman, who often glowed after sex. That particular morning she was glowing with more than her own pleasure, but affection; the image of a woman in love.

Yusuke scolded himself for such thoughts. He loved Futaba and because he loved her, he'd never tell her and never pursue her romantically. Futaba was broken out of her own trance feeling Yusuke's eyes on her.

"Yes?" Annoyance high in her voice.

"You look good." He said frankly.

"Gross!" She raised her hand to bop him on the head and was stopped by his speed and obviously stronger grip

"Are you going to keep doing this? Sleeping with men who obviously like you more than you like them?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Do you feel no guilt about playing with their hearts?"

"No."

"Would you feel guilty if it was mine? My heart?" Yusuke released Futaba and she was stunned by his directness. "You're an adult, Futaba, and you can do what you want, with who you want, but really. Are we not better than – whatever it is you do with these guys?"

"A woman decides to have multiple partners and it's frowned upon. What a surprise."

"This is not a gender or sex debate, Futaba. It's just – why? Do you not care how these people feel when you're done with them? Do you not care how I feel to see you walk different men in and out our front door?"

"I don't say anything when you have guests."

"I never have guests."

"Maybe you should, so you can mind your business and not mine."

"Maybe I should. But it'd be your business – since – I'm in love with you." He said it. He knew he shouldn't have and he knew nothing would be changed in him saying it, but perhaps Yusuke hoped she'd be more considerate; of his feelings; of her own.

"Stupid fox!" Futaba shouted. She fumed and felt the burning of her cheeks as her face grew hot; she was red from ear to ear. She was unsure if she felt rage or embarrassment, but those words made her uncomfortable. She held her cheeks and turned away from Yusuke, who smiled. He did love her, the way a person loves without sexuality being a subject or making one a marital partner. They were just – partners; friends; roommates; soulmates perhaps.

Tyrell walked out of the bedroom fully dressed to go. From a distance, one could examine the hurt on his face. Futaba hurried to his side, grabbed her coat and things and they left the apartment; the door slammed loudly. Yusuke sat in the kitchen hungry and alone. The flame of the gas stove still burned underneath the miso soup.

The day blazed by and the evening crept in; 6 pm being dark – as it tends to be in January. It was the weekend and Yusuke enjoyed a lazy nap after hours of painting. Futaba did not return after leaving with Prof. Williams that morning. Yusuke supposed she went to the lab. He was surprised to open his eyes from his nap and Futaba next to him; her face veiled by her strawberry hair. He carefully moved a few strands from her face, revealing her fair skin.

Was it possible for a man and woman to be involved and not be romantic? Not be sexual? Not be – typical. There was no answer. And there didn't have to be one. As Yusuke carefully tried to make his way out of bed, over Futaba's resting figure, he felt a tug on his shirt.

"I'm sorry about earlier." She said.

"I know."

"I – I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know."

"I'm afraid I would, so – that's why –"

"I know."

"You may think this is silly, but you're my best friend. I don't want to lose that."

"I know." Yusuke returned to his spot beside Futaba, and she rested her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair and let the silence between them and the white noise of the apartment serve as ambiance. Hours passed, and for dinner, they had Futaba's salty miso, rice, and some leftover Leblanc curry. For dessert, they ate ice cream and sat in the couch, legs intertwined; Yusuke listened.

Futaba liked Tyrell a great deal. However, Tyrell suggested they keep their relationship casual. Prof. Williams had a wife and child back in the U.S. and he liked Futaba too much to make empty promises of leaving his family behind for her. That morning, Tyrell received a call from his wife, informing him their child was in the ER. Shortly after, post-Futaba's climactic exit, over cups of coffee, he ended their relationship. Futaba spent all day crying in her lab.

Yusuke reprimanded himself and apologized for assuming that Futaba was always the one doing the damage. He figured every awkward conversation in the supermarket was those men hurting; never her. He figured it was always her crime; which sometimes it was. More than anything, however, he realized he was ignorant. He understood the best way to love Futaba was to never make her less or more than she was to him right then and there. Yusuke vowed to himself when it came to Sakura Futaba, there'd be no romance.


	2. Love Languages

A/n: Writing because I need other creative outlets. Now a filmmaker; always a writer. Let me know in the comments how you feel about this chapter. Thanks.

 **Love Languages**

In the golden radiance of the afternoon, those few moments before nightfall arrived, Ann graciously entered the timeless Leblanc café. She attempted to make her way in as quiet as a mouse, but the bell advertised her entrance. Seeing the ground level of the café was empty she kept her footsteps as light as one could, in designer thigh high boots. She carefully took off her heavy faux fur coat, revealing a body contouring sweater dress, and abandoned that and her suitcase in the first booth. She removed the matching hat; allowing her ashen blonde tresses freedom; light beads of sweat adorned her forehead. She was quite warm too.

The place always seemed unblemished by time and pace; ever unchanged. She ran her fingers over dark wood details of the furnishings; worn out upholstery in the booths and the aroma of coffee. She inhaled deeply the aroma that made her feel most at home.

It was good to be back.

She was in and out of the country, still making doing modeling in New York and on the side giving a try at acting school. She was already in a few indie projects, but her main focus revolved around developing her makeup line in partnership with Okumura Inc., and so to meet her friend and business partner, Okumura Haru, she returned.

Her meeting was tomorrow; her plane landed a bit before and jet-lagged, she wanted nothing more than Leblanc curry, a cup of coffee and to see him.

"Sorry for the long wait." He walked down the stairs of the attic, tying his apron and stopped when he saw her at the front door.

"Hi." She said with a full pearly white smile.

"Hey." Akira had a polite smile of his own. He walked over to her and the two stood face to face; both red-cheeked. They had dated, broken up, had an affair and were now both single. They also still made the other feel like their skin was on fire. "Let's get you some curry." He told her.

Ann sat down at the counter, before her the remnants of curry. She sipped on her cup of java; the beans from the French Caribbean Island, Guadeloupe. "ça va?" She said between a longer sip of the beverage. Akira raised an eyebrow and adjusted his "for show" frames.

"In a language, I can speak, please." He asked, "I feel like you only do it mock me."

"I'm teasing. You really should study more languages. You have so much room to do so since managing the café. Pick up a few hobbies."

"Did you come to lecture me?"

"I came to say hi."

"Hi." He grabbed the dirty dishes from Ann's meal and placed them in the sink. In his own way, he made it clear he was upset. Though not a man of many words his actions spoke loudly enough. As he began to wash the plates, Ann made her way behind the counter; behind him and circled his waist with her thin arms. She pressed her breasts against his back; her cheek.

"I'm sorry." She said.

Akira abandoned the dishes and turned off the faucet of the sink. With wet hands, he pulled Ann's arms from around his waist and faced her. "Customers aren't allowed behind the counter."

"Am I really just a customer?" She dared him; a look in her eyes somewhere between desire and hinted with a fear of rejection. He hated that about her; he also loved that about her. That even with her insecurity on her shoulders, she made bold moves and did brave things.

"Of course not." He looked away, pushing up his frames with his middle and index finger. His body plagued him with lust and he wondered if it would be a bad idea to rock the boat with her one more time. They were both single; obviously, she was still attracted to him and it had been months since he slept with someone. But it was different with her. It wasn't like she was no one; she was Ann. The girl he had a boyish crush on; the girl he dated, she became the woman he had an affair with. Even if they weren't together, he hadn't stopped loving her, but he was also content never being with her again. Where did the confidence to make up his mind about her go?

It left when she crushed her lips on his and ran her fingers through his hair. It left when her hands roamed over him; outlining his ears; his jawline; his neck; her tongue tracing his lips. It had been so long since he had been kissed; much longer since he felt like a man – made to feel like a man.

He pulled away from her and hurried to the front door. Ann's heart dropped and she watched him, unsure of his next move. She was jetlagged and full of curry, but she wanted him. Did he not want her? Could she take it if he didn't?

 _Click._

He turned the locks; she heard them. He removed his glasses and placed them on the counter next to the ancient yellow telephone; there for show; the antiquated object; their romance. He made his way over to her and pulled her into his arms like he was the Joker she remembered in their youth and her wildest fantasies of him.

They kissed heavily and Ann found she was desperate for air. He suckled her neck, and she let out a cry that inspired Akira in such a way, he felt like an animal. His tongue traced her earlobe and he lowered his hands to squeeze her bottom. She whined as her breasts pressed against his chest; she felt warmer than she did wearing faux fur winter wear.

She also felt a bit bloated.

He could wait no more, and Akira picked her up off the ground. She felt her stomach turn then. "Wait!" She cried, "wait!"

"Wait?" He asked. He stood there, holding her in his arms bridal style and examined as she shook her head with a 'no', holding her hands over her mouth.

"I ate too much." She said, muffled, behind her hands.

Night came and Akira lay in bed with Ann. She wore his old clothing; a t-shirt and some sweats, and him in a matching set of pajamas. Their legs were intertwined, and they shared the view of his tablet, watching online videos of the indie projects, Ann starred in.

"You're pretty good." Akira told her, "though I can't understand a word you're saying."

"Practice."

"Okay. I will." Ann looked over at him incredulously and he smiled.

"Okay then. I'll hold you to it. Let's see how good your French is next time I visit." Ann yawned loudly and crawled out of Akira's bed. She changed her clothes and prepared to leave. The day was lighthearted, filled with coffee and curry, intense making out, and videos of her budding acting career.

"Thanks for having me over."

"You never said why you came."

"Mostly business. I have a meeting with Haru tomorrow."

"I see. I wish you told me when you'd be coming."

"And what would you do? Avoid me?"

"Ann –"

"You know it's true. Akira, we're still weird around each other. We're going to be weird, but only if you want it to be."

"I don't want it to be."

"Then stop acting like it is," He was upset now; she was projecting. "Okay, we've messed up, but we can move on. We're adults." Once fully dressed, Ann faced the man she once called, leader. She missed the days of his silent confidence and inexplicable ability to have his shit together, even as the world around them crumbled. She was like that. She also wished she didn't say anything. She knew she was wrong then; trying to beat him to see who'd reject who first. Ann wondered if she an apology was due, for being unable to be as mature as her age called for. "I'm sorry for coming on to you. I don't know, maybe it'll always be weird because we still have feelings for each other?"

Even though it was true, he wouldn't admit that to her. He feared rejection too. "Did you call your taxi?" He asked. Ann sighed. She should have expected that.

"Goodbye, Akira." She disappeared down the attic stairs, and Akira lay in bed unmoved. He picked up his tablet and replayed the video of Ann's performance in the mediocre indie film.

The scene took place on a train platform; a close up of Ann's face and her beautiful features. In this her love interest walked away, leaving her in tears. She shouted, "I still love you! I still love you!" Hot, drama inspired tears rolled down her face; Akira replayed the scene over and over again. After several minutes, he tossed the electronic device down and made his way to the bathroom. He was shocked, for as he made his way to the bottom of the stairs, there was Ann standing in the doorway.

"Ann." She turned to him, and just as she appeared in the film; tears in her eyes.

"It's hard, right? To not be weird. To move on." Her voice trembled.

"Yeah. It's really hard."

"It's stupid. And I hate this. But I still love you. I still love you." She covered her face with her hands and cried. This routine, Akira was all too familiar with. He was highly aware of how vulnerable she was, despite maturing over the years. Despite how 'cool' she pretended to be. How much like him, she really wanted to become. He wasn't a high school student anymore. He wasn't cool, though he pretended. Feigning it wouldn't make it.

He walked over to her and pulled her into a warm embrace. "I didn't want it to be weird. It's going to be weird. I can't move on."

"Then don't." Ann paused and stared into the eyes of the man she thought she didn't deserve. Even after all their years of knowing each other, he was enigmatic but somehow transparent; more than she was with herself. She could never be like him. Perhaps that's why she couldn't get over the notion of them; of him.

"I still love you, too." He told her. "I never stopped."

Ever so carefully, he moved tears from her eyes; kissed her cheeks. Their lips, mere centimeters from each other, brushed lightly and Ann inhaled and exhaled to full herself with his aroma; home. They kissed; fiery, passionate kisses and Akira knew he could not go back on his word to practice another language. He wanted to tell her he loved her in every language she spoke.


	3. Mr Sakamoto

**Mr. Sakamoto**

His polished dress shoes were left untidy at the door. His formal messenger bag too; though many years old, it still looked new; an untouched gift from his mother when he graduated from college. His coat never made it to the closet and rested over the arm of the sofa, where he lay. He used it as a substitute for a pillow and rested his feet on the opposite end. He threw his forearm over his eyes to block out the intimation sun that was his living room's ceiling lamp. His white button down, loose at the neck; freedom from his deep blue tie. On the floor, the matching jacket for his suit.

He was tired.

"Ryuji," Makoto called from the bedroom. "Ryuji?" Sakamoto Makoto walked out of the bedroom. She wore an oversized sweater, exposing her legs, but kept warm with fuzzy polkadot socks; her favorite. With medium length hair brought into a ponytail, she favored her older sister. Makato held her laptop in her hands and did not look up from it. "Hun, did you pay the bill for our internet service? Ryuji?"

No answer came from the drifting Ryuji and Makoto didn't take too long to notice. She placed her laptop on the dining table and made her way to the sofa to see her exhausted husband. She ran her fingers through his short russet hair and smiled to herself. It had been some time since he'd been blonde, but at times he still seemed to her like the Ryuji she met as a Shujin Academy high school student. At that time, her feelings were for their mutual friend, Akira; but over the last few years, they found their way to each other.

In their darkest place, they became lovers, then eventually partners. Before Makoto knew it, she was trying on wedding dresses and taking pictures with a red in the face Ryuji, who was more handsome in a tux then she ever imagined.

He proposed to her in his own way, while sitting on their sofa, post loving making and drinking a spiked seltzer because they were out of beer and too lazy to go out. She appreciated how simple his love was; how down to earth and grounded he could be; and how much of he kept her afloat when she overloaded herself with reason and logic; whether with a smile or kiss.

He was a great teammate when they were Phantom Thieves. He was a better friend. He was amazing in bed and more than all those things together he was a great partner. She was glad they would be spending their whole lives together, but she also had her own concerns. At that moment, those interests were blocked by the lack of internet connection.

She tugged on a strand of his hair and Ryuji slapped his own face. Perhaps he thought it was an itch or a bug. "Ryuji…"

Ryuji opened one eye and saw his wife looming over him with annoyance, yet still some affection. "Yeah, yeah, I'm up." He rubbed his face and Makoto returned to her laptop.

"Did you pay the internet bill?"

"Yeah. Yeah, no, I forgot." Ryuji sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He was unsure of when he dozed off and how long he remained there.

"You said you'd take care of it. Why'd you forget?"

"I'm just tired. Did you know I had three interviews today?"

"No. You said you had two."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. But it was three. I got the voice message from another school during my second interview. I barely made it to the last one."

"I don't know why you're overexerting yourself. It's not like we're strapped for cash."

"I want a steady job. The gym is great and all, but I want something more stable. Can't be a daddy without a stable income." Makoto froze. They had spoken about kids before but never made any concrete plans. "I know we've only talked about it, but I'd really like to start trying soon. I want a Makoto Jr. Or just any child that looks like you."

"You don't want one that looks like you?"

"No – no, I already know what I look like. I want to be able to see you more and more in our kid. I know, it sounds super lame, right? I just keep daydreaming about it."

"Well, we never really made plans for it."

"I mean, once I land a decent gym teacher or coaching gig, we can."

"I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

"If we're ready. If I'm ready." Makoto returned to the bedroom and Ryuji looked over to see she disappeared from the dining table. She couldn't just dart away from that, as if the conversation was over. He wouldn't let her. Ryuji arose from the couch and made his way to the bedroom. He pulled off his tie and stood in the doorway.

"What do you mean you're not ready?"

"I just don't want to commit to a kid yet, without really knowing what I want for me."

"So...you don't want children?"

"Of course I do. I want little ones with big warm eyes like yours, but not now. Not at this moment. It's just – a friend told me about a law program in New York and I want to check it out. I want to be sure." She closed her laptop and placed it on the nightstand. She faced Ryuji and who was at a loss for words.

"Be sure? What you're not happy with me?"

"Ryuji –"

"Is it because I make less money than you. I don't understand –"

"It's not like that. I just – I want to be sure for me. This has nothing to do with our marriage, but everything to do with me making sure that before I commit to bringing life into this world, I committed to me; I loved me."

"So I'm holding you back?"

"No. I never said that. Ryuji please –" He turned away from her and headed towards the front door. He grabbed his coat and began slipping on sneakers. "Ryuji!" Makoto hurried after him but could not stop him from walking out the door. It closed with a slam and she regretted waking him from his slumber.

Ryuji sat on the train for what felt like the last ten years of his life. How'd he reach the point where he didn't know anything but what he wasn't and what he couldn't do; what he didn't have. He was so different back in the good old days. Never the sharpest tool in the box, but always the one to have his friend's back. Always the one to stand up for those he cared about; who was he just then to the woman he loved? The woman he called wife.

He got off the train and roamed the area where he worked. The gym was like his second home and he didn't know where else to go. As he walked by he saw a familiar face, crowned by a large curly afro. He stopped and stared for a bit too long, as she approached him. Lana, in a puffy winter jacket, walked to Ryuji with a smile. "Hey." She said; song in her voice.

"Hey, wha – what are you doing here?" He could barely make out. They hugged. It was a short and awkward hug, but an embrace nonetheless. Ryuji couldn't stop thinking, what were the chances of running into one's ex.

"I'm covering the evening yoga classes for, Meiko since she had her baby and all."

"Oh! I had no idea." He wasn't lying. He didn't. Wrapped up in his own thoughts and life, Ryuji took little time to notice his pregnant coworker. He scolded himself for not taking time to talk to her, or congratulate her on something she had going on; the very same thing he wanted for himself and his partner.

"Yeah…" Lana found it strange that he wouldn't. Meiko was so noticeably pregnant and lead the only prenatal yoga courses at the gym. Perhaps there was a difference in schedule. "So how are you? How you been?"

"Good," He answered quickly. He feared he'd say too much if he took time to think of his response, "cant' complain. I'm married now." He took his left hand out his pocket and held up his hand, showing his wedding band. Lana smiled.

"Great. Congratulations."

"What about you?"

"I run my own studio now. I'm just doing this for Meiko since she and I go way back."

"Right. Well, congratulations on managing your own studio. I'm sure it's doing well."

"Yeah. It is. And I'm happy."

"Good," He answered, "I'm happy for you." Was she showing off? Was she making it her business to let him know just how well she did after their breakup, though so much time had passed already? "I'm actually thinking of leaving the gym. I'm interested in teaching. I figure leading a track team or being a gym teacher would suit me better, since it helped me out so much when I was young and filled with angst. I wanted to help out young people in the same place, you know?"

"That's so great! I think you'd be wonderful with kids. When we were together, I always thought you'd be a great dad, because you have such a big heart." Lana smiled and Ryuji felt his heart stop then. Despite the cold, he felt warm. Her words comforted him in a way he needed, but it also dragged out the pain he felt on the matter. Makoto didn't say such a thing to him; she only expressed her concerns, not her excitement.

"Do you wanna get a drink? Catch up on old times?" Ryuji asked. He tried his best to hide his eagerness.

"Yeah, sure. I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm not too far from here."

"I remember." He knew he answered too quickly. She knew it too.

He sat on her couch and the ceiling fan spun overhead. Though he didn't forget where she lived, the actual apartment was different than he remembered; different paint job and a few more pictures hung on the wall. Freshened up after a shower, Lana came out from the kitchen and handed him a beer. She sat beside him on the sofa and opened her can. They toasted and as she drank, Ryuji watched her from the corner of his eye. It had been a long time enough time and he remembered more things about than he should.

As he sipped his own beer and recalled her dominate her tongue was when they kissed. How thick and strong her thighs were; how it felt to have them wrapped around his waist when inside her; how inside her felt. He remembered all the sex they had on the sofa, though when he looked at the sofa, he realized he wasn't sitting in the same one. It was new; a different color. He wondered if she still made the same noises during sex. The one that made him feel like he was the best lover on earth.

"So things are going well?" He asked.

"Yeah. Really well. You know, when we broke up, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to leave Japan, so bad. And it took some time, but after packing half my things and throwing out the couch, I realized, my location and my things didn't need to change, I did."

"I'm sorry about how things ended."

"Don't be. It was fine. Look, we're talking now, right? And we're each doing well. Let's toast to that!" They knocked their beer cans together once more and Lana chugged the remainder of her drink. She arose from her spot on the couch and returned to the kitchen. "Do you want another?" She asked.

"Sure." In his head, he knew he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was hurt, tired and if he kept drinking as fast as he was on an empty stomach, he'd come on to her. Though he loved his wife, Lana was a woman he was very attracted to; chocolate skin that glowed; big hair. She walked around her apartment, wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt with no bra on. He knew it was not an invitation, but...was it?

She handed him another beer. He gracefully accepted. She opened her serving and Ryuji stared at his. What was he doing?

"You know, I stayed in Japan because of you." Ryuji looked at her, confused. "I was so ready to run after we broke up, but then I realized, so many good things happened to me here. I got a job I loved. I fell in love. So, though things ended between us – it's been mostly good here. I'm glad I met you, Ryuji."

He put on his coat and shoes. She stood at the entrance and watched him. As he reached for the knob he faced her and they both smiled. "Thanks for coming by."

"Yeah. Maybe we should get dinner sometime."

"Yeah. With Meiko and the old crew." He observed his mistake and how he misspoke. She corrected him by making sure other people were involved. As he turned the knob she touched his arm. "I think you'll be a great teacher, Ryuji, for the same reason I thought you'd be a great dad. You're filled with so much love. Even if you didn't love me back, there was no way for me to tell, because I always felt loved. And your heart is so big, I know you get hurt easily, but that also means you love twice as hard."

Tears welled in Ryuji's eyes, and he had no way to fight them. He faced Lana, who was shocked by his expression as he lost control of his feelings. He stepped towards her and brought his hands to cup her face. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered. Her chocolate complexion, smooth and glowing as always. He brought his face to hers and pressed their lips together in a deep kiss. He couldn't think of anything else then. Not of his exhaustion; his lack of a steady career; his wife, Makoto. He only thought of the warmth he felt and how much he wanted it to remain. When they parted Lana moved his hands from her cheeks. She rubbed the tears from his eyes and smiled. "Go home to your wife, Sakamoto-san." She said to him.

"Maybe we can get a drink another time?" He asked though he knew her answer.

"Maybe." She responded, thought both knew 'maybe' would never come. Ryuji exited Lana's apartment and he ran towards the train station.

Hurrying into his apartment, Ryuji near forgot to take off his shoes. He abandoned his winter coat on the living room floor and hurried into the bedroom to see Makoto typing away on her laptop. Without looking up at him, she said, "I paid for the internet on my phone."

"Okay." He answered.

"Come here." She patted his side of the bed and Ryuji took a seat on the end. Makoto closed her device and crawled over to her husband. She hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sorry." She could only apologize. She knew she hurt him. It was unfair. She knew he was having a hard time, and she didn't time the topic well.

"It's okay."

"I talked to Sae and I got a great idea. Why don't you come to the states with me? We'll bring Yohanna, and it'll be the three of us. You're already so good with her, I'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult and could be practice for when we have our own. Plus, Sae could use a break as a single mom -"

"I saw my ex." Makoto was taken aback by his response. She expected his enthusiasm, but perhaps she was mistaken to think him so childish, naïve and easily won over.

"Oh. Okay…"

"We got drinks and caught up."

"I see."

"I kissed her. I'm sorry." Ryuji arose from the bed. He grabbed his gym duffle and shoved clothing into the bag, not looking at what he picked up.

"Ryuji –"

"I think we should – I don't know. I'm gonna stay with Akira for a while."

"Ryuji!" Makoto raced her husband to the door. Ryuji, faster and stronger than her simply moved her out the way as he continued to gather his things. "Let's talk about this – please!"

"I don't want to! I have nothing to say. I'm sorry, but I messed up – I can't talk now. I'm sorry."

And like that, the door was slammed once more for the night. Makoto stood in the living room confused, hurt and miles away from the anger she believed she was entitled to. But when she wanted to scream, all that came out were sobs. Tears welled in her eyes and she regretted more than anything waking him up from his peaceful rest, where he dreamt of their children and their growing family.

Akira threw an additional blanket to Ryuji who laid on the sofa. They didn't speak when he arrived. He simply appeared at Leblanc with a full bag of clothing. No words between them, he made a makeshift spot on the old sofa of that dusty attic in that timeless café. As he laid down, Ryuji closed his eyes and felt warm tears cascade down his face. He didn't know who he was or what he wanted anymore. He only missed Makoto like crazy.


	4. Cold Coffee

A/n: Interested in my original work? Check out my series, _Uneducated,_ on YouTube. I love hearing your feedback. Please comment and I'll try my best to respond.

 **Cold Coffee**

It was the coldest it had been all season. So cold it discouraged commutes outside of work and school. The Shibuya streets were filled with masked men and women in fear of getting ill from the frost. The sightings of all and any masks were Phantom Thieves reminiscent to Ann and Haru as they glanced out the window while the waiter poured them hot coffee. Despite the weather, it wasn't too cold to discourage Haru from her favorite restaurant for a lunch-meet with her friend and business partner.

Haru sat at the white table clothed dining table, well dressed in a wool houndstooth two-piece skirt suit. Her blazer rested on the back of the chair; her silk button down, loose two buttons at the top. Her voluptuous bust seemed finely accented by the expensive fabric and her gorgeous skin; her wavy hair pulled into a messy bun. Ann bit her bottom lip and meekly looked into her own cup of coffee. Though she too wore lovely designer things – and was an attractive woman – sitting across from the empowered Haru made her feel insignificant. Ann was sure the flamboyant waiter off to the side of their table, noticed her checking out Haru's breasts in envy and judged her. Fuck him.

She couldn't say much as Haru asked for one moment so her assistant could step over and hand her documents to sign. Haru quickly scanned the paperwork before leaving her signature on various pages. All Ann heard were the sharp drags of the fine ball-point pen on the articles of paper. She was so entranced by Haru's professional prowess that it broke her trance when she heard Haru's other words.

"So Friday works?" Haru asked. Ann looked up and nodded.

"Yeah. Friday. I'll have Giselle email you the updated contract once our legal team reviews it."

"Giselle, that's the platinum blonde one, right?"

"Yeah. She dyed her hair a few weeks ago."

"I thought so. When we video conference I was unsure because I swore she was a brunette. I've actually been thinking of dyeing my hair."

"Oh?" Though they met for business, Ann missed talking to Haru. She desired idle conversations about things they enjoyed; she also desired to get juicy gossip as Makoto and Shiho were married women who didn't have much to say and Futaba was…Futaba. "I think you'd look great with highlights. Think of the wonders it'd do with dating."

"Yeah…" Haru answered coy. She handed her assistant back the documents and the young woman vanished quickly. Haru sipped her coffee. Ann tapped her fingers against the side of her mug; excitement reverberated on the ceramic; danced in the ripples of the contained coffee.

"Have you been seeing anyone?"

"Not as of late…" Haru began, "actually I was going out with a woman for a very short time." Ann clasped her coffee mug and stared at Haru with doe eyes. The waiter stepped closer to the table, as this was the best dirt he would have the opportunity to hear all day.

"Really?"

"Yeah. We met online. We only went on a couple dates and I found her attractive, but it wasn't really for me. We didn't get intimate or anything." The waiter sighed loudly and Ann observed him from the corner of her eye. He rolled his eyes. So what if she judged him? Screw her.

"So, are you into women?" Ann asked, "Not that there's anything wrong with it –"

"Oh, I know! It's just, I didn't want to limit my options. But after those few dates, I know I'm not."

"I see." Ann looked back into her mug. Somewhere in her she was disappointed. She wanted all the dirty details, but it seemed Haru was just regular Haru. So much for gossip. Without knowing it, she and the waiter were equally disappointed.

Haru looked out the window once more. The hurried people of the city, leading their busy lives, even in the coldest weather seemed only to emphasize her loneliness; her desire to love and be loved. "Actually, I wanted to tell you something, but I'm afraid it'll complicate things."

"Please. You can tell me anything." Ann reached across the table and touched the hand of her former comrade; her friend – and now business partner. The Phantom Thieves became Haru's family when she lost hers; that would never change, but also, Ann wanted to be better friends with the young women she left behind when she went to New York. Women who were part of her youth and she had the privilege of entering adulthood with.

"It's just – I like where you and I are going and that we're able to maintain our friendship and become business partners. It really means so much to me to do business with a person I trust and also another woman at that."

"I totally agree. I'm glad about this too."

"But Ann, this particular thing has been bothering me and I can't. I can't say it. It'll ruin everything." She pulled her hand away and resumed sipping on the lukewarm cup of coffee. Ann arched an eyebrow. She worried now; was Haru hesitant to continue work with her? Did she want to end their partnership? It was the thing Ann feared most and it couldn't be more complicated than that.

"Just say it. We've gone through life and death together, right? You've been in my corner about this business, I want you to know I'm here for you as well."

"But what if we can't stay friends after this?" Ann paused. What was it she wanted to say? The silence in the restaurant began to bother her. At first, she was excited to have the restaurant all to themselves, the cold discouraged other guests; but she seemed to miss Haru's ability to pay for it to remain empty for the hour. Ann felt small again; nervous and very much out of her league.

"What? Everyone has hiccups, but I'm sure we'll be okay. It's us." Was the desperation in her voice obvious? She also reprimanded herself for thinking that pulling their former days as teammates could save the relationship; her business.

"I don't think I can date anyone." Haru finally said. Ann paused; it wasn't at all what she expected. She was confident it was about work; about the business; about everything else, but then it wasn't. Though she should have been glad she was wrong, she wasn't. She wanted to feel relief but she wasn't sure why she didn't.

"Well, why not?" Ann's eyes seemed as deep as the sea. Haru stared at them, fearful of drowning. She wanted to be a good friend; but was she really? Were they actually, good friends? At this point in their adulthood? After the time that past? After Akira?

"Because –"

"Because…?" Ann's smiled was decorated in uncertainty. The curve of her lip seemed to tremble. At this time, both cups of coffee were ice cold.

"I still love him. I still love, Akira." As best as possible, Haru fought tears. She covered her mouth and the waiter stepped over once more. He smiled as he leaned into the table.

"Can I get you, ladies, anything?" He asked with a smirk. Leaning deeply over the dining table, he turned to Haru who used a napkin to pat away the mascara that ran down her cheeks. Giving Ann his back, as he gave Haru his full attention and effectively blocked the blonde's line of vision. From that, he made it quite clear he just wanted to fuck with her.

"Some privacy would be nice," Ann answered sharply.

"Actually some fresh coffee would be nice," Haru asked; her face blocked by the obnoxious, looming waiter. At that moment, Ann wished for him to vanish.

"Of course." The waiter said with a smile. He stepped away but quickly spun around. "Shall I bring you a dessert menu?"

"No," Ann replied curter than before.

"Actually, I'll have two chocolate macarons," Haru ordered. The waiter smiled deviously and Ann glared at him as he left the table. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" Haru asked her companion. Ann sat white-faced and held her cold cup of coffee. She didn't make eye contact.

"No."

"Ann, listen – I won't be acting on these feelings. I just thought you should know since we're more than friends. Aren't we?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"I told you because I love you. I love you and Makoto and Futaba. You all are the sisters I never had, and I felt like I was betraying you."

"I appreciate the thought. I do." Ann arose from the table the gathered her things. Haru looked away, hurt, but with understanding.

"We'll talk then." Haru regretted her decision to speak, immediately. She regretted the truth.

"Yeah. The next time I'm in Japan of course."

"Oh! Maybe I can visit you in Brooklyn? I should be in New York next month, for business. But we can see a Broadway show!" She didn't want Ann to leave. She just wanted to change the subject. "I was excited to hear you're getting into acting –"

"Yeah. You're always welcome to see me, Haru. It's just - you're not welcome to him. I appreciate you telling me, and I get it, but please do understand that – our friendship can last this, but I don't know if he and I can. I may be overreacting right now - which I hope you understand - but as long as you're feeling this way, please do stay away from Akira. I'm asking. As a friend." And so it came about, the difference in them, outside their respective looks, and position in life. Ann felt small in comparison to Haru and her greatness at the start of the conversation, but wouldn't feel small any more if he was the subject matter.

"I'd never act on these feelings. That's why I told you."

"I understand. So, those documents, for Friday then." Cold. Cold like the old cup of coffee; like outside; colder.

"Yes. Friday."

"Okay. Have a good evening." Ann, fully dressed in her winter gear left money on the dining table then made her way out of the restaurant. The waiter returned and placed down a clean cup for coffee and a plate with macarons. Though piping hot coffee steamed from the small tin pot as it was poured for her, Haru sat there, staring at the empty seat Ann sat in moments before. Things were complicated and the coffee was now too hot to drink.

She was right.


	5. Superheroes

**Superheroes**

"I wanted to be a superhero." Ryuji lay face down in the musty sofa of the attic. It was cold and the space heater remained on full-blast. He didn't understand why it was never warm enough in that attic room when climate change, global warming, and these melted ice caps were things he couldn't stop hearing about. Could superhero Ryuji save the world?

"Superhero?" Yusuke asked. He sat, with legs crossed, on Akira's bed sketching Ryuji's 'body palm' into the sofa. He coughed a bit and tossed his pad and pencil down. He dug into his bag and pulled out a vape pen. Ryuji - who sat up at that exact moment - was shocked to see him with it.

"Since when?"

"Since this artist, I'm seeing. It's a bad habit. I'll drop it soon. She and I don't like each other very much, but the sex is good."

"She's jealous of Futaba?"

"She is. That's why I don't like her. Futaba is why she doesn't like me. So," with a deep pull, "a superhero?" Exhale.

"To my kids. If I had them." Ryuji answered. He sulked and felt he was sinking into the sofa. He imagined being lost in Mementos, trapped in a cage of his insecurities.

"I thought you two were on the same page."

"I thought so too, but…"

"She's a person. Her dreams are important to her. Even though they're not the same as yours, it doesn't mean you can't have yours too; compromise makes relationships." Yusuke, who was traditionally so far removed seemed more aware and down to earth in that instance. He coughed a bit more and looked at the vape he held with the fingers he drew with; he painted with; he graced canvases with.

"So if you actually like this girl, shouldn't you be willing to compromise?"

"Futaba isn't negotiable."

"Do you love her?"

"More than anything."

"Like, in love?"

"No. She's special. Like, my muse. She's so different from me. Yin and Yang. I need that dynamic. It inspires me, even to this day. I think I make better art with her around."

Akira walked up the creaky attic stairs with a six-pack. He glared at Yusuke who shrugged.

"Come on. You know I hate that shit."

"I'm quitting today," Yusuke replied.

"Quit now." Akira approached Yusuke, snatched the device from his hand and tossed him a beer in return. He handed one to Ryuji, who wasn't sure if the men who sat across from him were the young men he knew back in high school. Akira grabbing things and Yusuke smoking. Who were these guys? Villains? Was he?

The three opened their individual cans simultaneously. With the click and sound of pressure being released from the can of the carbonized drink, they were full into their age now. Fully grown; miserable and unlike the boys, they used to be. Ryuji drank his beer with too much gusto and smiled. He'd feel the buzz soon. He was hungry and drinking on an empty stomach was a sure fire way to get drunk. He wanted that. "I was telling Yusuke, I wanted to be a superhero," Ryuji said.

Akira chuckled. "Bullshit. Superhero. You're gonna save the day from what –"

"Save my marriage, I guess."

"I just can't believe you didn't sleep with her." Yusuke said matter of fact, "From what I remember, Lana was your type of women, no?"

"Everything I thought I wanted."

"But what made you think it was a good idea to even go there – " Akira continued.

"I didn't think. I knew damn well it wasn't. At all. But she made me feel good about myself. She made my ego big. Felt like Skull again; like calling out Captain Kidd. She said I'd be a good dad. I know kids are something I want and the person I want it with, doesn't want it, when I want it," Ryuji inhaled deeply. His exhale filled the room with his hurt, pain, and sorrow, "and I know I was wrong but my heart is breaking." Tears filled his eyes.

Akira sipped. Yusuke arose from his spot on the bed. He sat beside Ryuji and draped his arm over his shoulder. Ryuji squeezed the can of his drink; denting it. He was still strong enough for that much. The spillage of the alcoholic beverage bothered no one. It was quiet and he cried.

"Go home, Ryuji." Akira stood up. Both Ryuji and Yusuke faced the man that was once their leader. It was as if they were young again and Joker stood before them encouraging their greatness and giving support. "You love your wife and you want a life with her. Talk it out. As hurt as you are, as anyone is, why do we never talk about the things we should, with our loved ones? Go to Makoto, tell her you to want this, but you want her to be happy too and figure out what works for both of you. You don't need to be a superhero; you don't need to call on a persona; you don't need to save your marriage you just need to be honest and real with your feelings. Go."

"Relationships are about compromise," Yusuke said. He folded his arms and crossed his legs with a nod of his head.

The bell rang as Yusuke and Ryuji exited the café. Akira watched them walk away and headed back to the attic. As he took his first step on the creaky stair, he heard a tap at the door. He returned and opened it to see Ann with her luggage. He let her in and in the blink of an eye, she embraced him, tightly.

"Glad to see you too." He said. He pressed his lips clumsily on her forehead; unable to avoid some of the fabric of her winter hat. She squeezed him. He wasn't sure where this wave anxiety came from. She didn't look up at him. Her eyes were shut closed and she pressed into his chest. "Ann –"

"Move to Brooklyn with me!" She shouted. He pulled away from her and saw her eyes filled with tears. He didn't understand at all.

"What?"

"Leave here and move to Brooklyn. Come live with me."

* * *

Yusuke entered his almost pitch black apartment and flicked on the lights. In the living room, Futaba sat alone staring at the glow of her cellphone. He kicked off his shoes and abandoned his bag on the kitchen counter. Futaba was still and quiet; unmoving. He approached her slowly, afraid his next words would break her, but he dared to speak. "Hey…" He began.

"Hey."

"What's up?" Yusuke sat down beside her. He wanted to pat her head and comfort her. Without words, he knew something was amiss.

"Tyrell's wife...Tyrell's wife came to the laboratory today, during a huge presentation to the university's donors. She berated me in front of my colleagues. She called me a homewrecker – in front of everyone I've ever worked with. The director of the program was not happy, so he suspended me; indefinitely."

"What? How could any of that have been your fault –"

"Fraternizing with coworkers is not permitted in our institution. At least – not openly. And more than that, it has discouraged our prospective donors from continuing business with us. Her getting to interrupt reflects on the school's lax security – it –"

"Futaba –"

"It makes me look like a slut –"

"Futaba!" Yusuke shouted. She stared at him, hot tears in her eyes from overwhelming feelings. She was somewhere between rage and disappointment and only with herself. Yusuke shouted because he knew she'd internalize it. He knew she'd become self-deprecating. He knew how bad she'd feel and how far her-self loathe would take her, "I will never let you go back to that dark place. Don't say things like that about yourself." The tears kept flowing and she buried her head into her hands.

"I've ruined my career. And somehow – I'm not even worried about that. I'm worried about, Tyrell!" She sobbed. She sobbed and it made Yusuke sick to his stomach. How could she worry about someone else? Especially about that man? The man that took her as his woman, knowing he had a family waiting for him at home? How could she care for him at all? He bit his lip to near blood when he pondered on it. Futaba was in love. He felt rage because he very well knew what it meant to love with someone and not have them. He felt rage because he would never wish that on anyone, especially Futaba. And so, he held her; hero's arms.

* * *

Ryuji felt the walk from the train station to his apartment was the longest walk of his life. Was he moving slowly? Were the things around him moving fast? He didn't know; he couldn't tell. He decided, since time flowed strangely in his fear and anxiety, he'd make the best of it.

He walked to the store and bought flowers. They weren't Makoto's favorite, but he hoped she'd appreciate the gesture. His perfectly good wife. The woman that was always too good for him and he knew, and he might have ruined that, but he'd be brave. He'd apologize for kissing Lana; for overreacting. He'd be clear that they could work together on their dreams. That if it meant moving to America for Makoto to go to law school, so be it.

He'd learn English; he watched enough western television with Akira. It wasn't unrealistic – a lot of Japanese lived in California. He'd learn to surf. He'd tan. They'd move to San Francisco and buy a townhouse and raise a family there – because anywhere Makoto was, was home. She was his family. That's what marriage meant. Anything as long as it worked for them both; compromise.

He opened the door to the apartment into silence. He called out to Makoto and there was no answer. He entered their bedroom and again, no one there. Where'd she go? Where'd the woman he loved more than life itself go off to?

Mishima Yuki was shocked to see Sakamoto Makoto stand in the doorway of his bachelor pad. He could count on his fingers how often they spoke in the last six months; once. It was the call that lead to him opening the front door. Makoto stumbled in, drunk and he held her up. Why his friends always left their drinking problems on him, he'd never know.


	6. Winter's Last Stand (Epilogue)

It was such a cold night. The bathhouse closed early for the winter weather advisory warning. Pigeons cuddled together for warmth and cooed beneath an awning. The alley cats made temporary home beneath a stairwell; a colony of frostbitten felines.

Morgana was happy at home with Haru; warm on the couch as she sat beside him, rubbing his tummy. With her other hand, she browsed flights to New York City on her cellphone. Though she loved Akira, she wanted to show Ann their friendship was just as important to her. She'd go to Brooklyn. She booked a hotel near the bridge. She'd do everything in her power to make him the last thing on her mind. She'd be a good friend.

Winter's Last Stand

Akira was done.

He loved Ann, but the rollercoaster was too much. They stood there in Leblanc, the sudden and brutal cold following in. Akira pulled away from her and closed the door. He shivered. "Ann, take a seat."

"No." She shook her head. Her eyes welled with tears; her face burned red; sniffles. She was dressed rather warmly and so the red of her nose was not the cold. Akira sighed.

Did she not care for his pride as a man? How could anyone feel good to see they were the cause of a person's tears; the disappointment; constantly.

"Stop this. Please."

"Come with me."

"You know I can't."

"I love you." She covered her face with her hands. She sobbed and even the skin on the back of her hands, red. It frustrated him. He didn't resent her; he began to resent that she made him feel he was to resent himself and his decisions.

"Don't say it again."

She stopped crying. Almost. As if to register her state of shock. She felt her chest tighten and though the tears didn't stop pouring she felt all the small details that one used to metaphorically illustrate love, humanity and the like – she missed those. She felt robotic; inhumane. "What?" She asked in disbelief.

"Don't say it again," He worked hard then to keep his upset controlled, "You love me. You love me. It feels like you're trying to guilt me, for doing what you did. I'm choosing me and what I want and what makes me happy and you just come out of nowhere!" She didn't expect that.

"Akira –"

"Who are you to think I should always throw everything through the window for you? I love you – I will never stop loving you - but you can't keep inserting yourself into my life when I have to work hard to move on when you just up and leave. It's not fair."

Ann placed her fingers in her mouth; childlike. She had to grow up again for she was restarting her system. Her thoughts had to catch up to her body and the moment she was in. She couldn't identify how she was feeling. No words came to mind, "I - I didn't mean it – I just. I'm tired of losing you," She could barely make the words out.

"You don't lose me. You leave. Each time. And it's like you want me to follow you into this abyss where it's just us until your life comes in. Right? Your business, your acting. Your life. What about my life? My feelings? Am I just an accessory you forget until you see me again?"

"Never. No."

"I don't want to do this with you anymore. I'm too old."

The tears stopped and it was so quiet one could hear the howl of winter wind. She opened her mouth to say something. To dispute, beg, seduce, convince but she couldn't. All she could say, "My flight's soon."

Just as he knew she would.

* * *

Makoto, rolled around in the sofa. Her head pounded as the sunlight poured in. The leather of her sleeping place was nothing like her bed. It was warm but stuck to her skin. Her hair stuck to her face. Her eyes darted about the well-furnished apartment.

Right. Mishima.

She struggled to rise, holding her head and squinting against the brutal sunlight. She'd have to call out sick. Wait – what day of the week was it? Did she have work? She peered around the apartment again but was alarmed when she heard snoring. She looked, unable to find the source until her eyes traveled down. At the foot of the sofa, curled up into a ball; her husband. Ryuji slept close to the piece of furniture. She smiled weakly but held her head in pain. Makoto felt the caffeine migraine that accompanied hangovers.

Mishima poured her coffee. She politely accepted the mug and he shook his head. They stood across from each other in the tiny galley kitchen. She never knew how much money he made, but inferred it was enough from the custom design of his home. She sipped her hot beverage.

"Sakamoto -" Mishima began.

"Yuki, I've known you long enough," She grumbled into her cup.

"Yes, but you're my friend's wife; you wound up at my door last night – and I'm just trying to be respectful. Also – do I look like a marriage counselor? You and Ryuji are far too needy of me."

"Sorry." She whispered.

"I don't even want to know what happened."

"He wants to have a baby. I'm told him I'm not ready."

"I just said I don't want to know!" Mishima shook his head again. Ryuji would have to wake up for this.

The three sat together at Mishima's glass dining table, coffee in each of their hands; a bowl of hangover stew Mishima whipped up. He learned the recipe from his Korean girlfriend, Hae-rin. He was grateful she was too busy working to be around to meet his embarrassing married friends. He was more grateful to himself for holding off on introducing them to her. She was great. Them – not so much.

"Here's what's gonna happen. I'm going to work." Ryuji arched an eyebrow. He felt personally attacked. Makoto felt some shame; she did get drunk on a weeknight as a married woman, "When I come back, you'll both be gone. And a month from now, we won't even laugh about this awkward morning after, because I'm going to force myself to forget this whole thing." He stood up and gathered his things. As he walked towards the door and pulled on his shoes he shouted, "I am not a Sakamoto caretaker! Okay? Wash the dishes before you leave and have a good day." He exited the apartment with a slam of the door.

"He's pretty mad, huh?" Ryuji joked. Makoto continued to sip her coffee. "We should talk, now – don't you think?"

"You left first," Makoto replied.

"I wrong."

"You could have talked then – and you left - so what is there to talk about now?"

"Compromise."

"I don't want to compromise my dreams for a husband who won't even talk to me." She covered her face with her hair. Ryuji felt such hurt then. She had nowhere to hide her pain; so she fled to Mishima to hide from him. Mishima, who she scarcely spoke to. When that failed, she hid behind her hair. Could he really be a father, when he felt he was hardly a husband?

"Don't compromise your dreams, for anyone. Not for me. Not for a cowardly man like me." Ryuji stared into his mug. He wanted Akira to make him a cup. He wanted something to comfort him more than Yuki's angry pot of dark coffee. He was about to make the hardest decision of his life; but God, he loved Makoto too much to make her anymore unhappy and hold her back, "Go to America. Even if we split, I'm still rooting for you. I want you to be happy."

Makoto moved the strands of hair she used to curtain her face, as if to unveil herself to him; new vows. Ryuji smiled to the sight of her eyes. She was beautiful even then, with puffy eyes and dark circles around them. "You look awful," he said to her. He rested his chin in his palm and could only smile with all his pearly whites. She blushed and giggled.

"You look awful too."

"I feel awful. Mishima does not have comfortable floors. You think he'd offer me a futon or something."

In all their frustration and hurt, they shared laughter. Somehow they knew how to comfort one another; something particular to them. Makoto reached out and squeezed Ryuji's hand. She'd tell him later that she knew he'd be a great dad. She knew because he was the type to find her when lost; stay by her side in the darkest places, despite his hurt. He'd choose her over himself at the end of the day. Never less brave than when they were teens; Ryuji was amazingly selfless.

"I want a boy," She said to him. Hearing those words brought tears to Ryuji's eyes, "and I want him to grow up and be pure of heart, just like you." Ryuji buried his head in hands and cried loudly. Words he never thought he'd hear were finally said and he was overwhelmed with joy.

* * *

Futaba rolled over and stared at her phone. She had numerous missed calls from Tyrell. She rolled over once more and saw Yusuke's pale and beautiful face at rest. His long lashes like curtains on his cheeks; his dark hair tossed in various directions. His lips were pinker than even her own. She wondered what lip balm he wore. He was always more put together than she was.

Strange, how she noticed and did nothing about it; but this time she was compelled. She caressed his cheek. She was grateful to Yusuke for allowing her to fall apart in his arms. She knew she didn't deserve him. She knew she cost him relationships. She knew he was in love with her.

She knew there'd be no going back if they became a thing. Though she loved him back – the risk was greater than the return. Futaba leaned in close to him; her lips grazing his. She lightly planted them against his own. It didn't take much time for him to awake and the things that followed were natural for a man and woman.

He kissed her back, carefully. He pulled the blankets over their heads and the layers of their clothing reached the floor quickly. His kissed her neck and she ran her fingers through his hair. Her legs circled around his waist and they stared into each other's eyes. He paused.

"I love you." He admitted.

"I love you." She responded.

Shortly thereafter the alarm of his cellphone rang. Yusuke looked for it and saw a sleeping Futaba. She lay beside the phone and was unmoved by the noise. He smirked. She stirred a bit and he felt his heart stop as he heard her, "Tyrell…" she mumbled. He frowned and grabbed the cellphone, dismissing the alarm. He raised the blankets to look down at this morning manhood. It was so vivid a dream. He was miserable, but he accepted his fate. Just then he received a text message from Ryuji; a group text with him, Akira, and…Mishima? It read, "I'm going to America."

Epilogue (Vernal Equinox)

Applause sounded throughout the small theater. Ann squeezed the hands of her costars and they bowed. They arose and bowed once more. She didn't know the sound of praise in this capacity. It was new to her. It was everything, but perfect.

The foot traffic backstage was something she still wasn't used to. Being crowded and pressed into a small isle like hallway; costume, set designers and actors running back and forth. Indie production was another world. She was used to bigger venues and more glamour behind the scenes from her days of fashion. Normally she'd be primping behind a mirror and an intern would bring her ice water or champagne. Now she had to wait in line for the bathroom to change out of the wardrobe. This new world challenged her. She loved it.

"Annie!" A young Afro-ed girl ran up to her as she stood backstage. It was her costar, Shelly-Ann, who also directed and produced the project. The two embraced each other and Ann loved everything about the young woman. She admired her greatly as a single mom from East New York, who raised her son on her own, worked full time and still fit her dreams of acting, writing and producing into her life.

"It was so good Shell!"

"I know. A full house, three nights in a row. I was just saying to Jeff, he just has to let us do more shows. I'm thinking in the summer, once it's warm enough!"

"That'd be great!"

"I'd love if you stayed on board!"

"Yeah! Of course, I'm in!"

"Great! Listen, we're all going to that tapas place in the Lower East Side, the one that Jeff likes. The first round of drinks is on me, just to thank you guys for such a great production. Say you're coming!"

"I can't. Not tonight. Next time for sure."

"Your cute Asian man waiting for you at home?"

"I wish I had any man waiting for me at home."

The women laughed together and shared another embrace. Though Ann missed her friends and the streets of Shibuya, it was good to be in New York; her new home.

She was tired of stairs though. New York had many a walk up and she regretted canceling her gym membership just the month before. She figured spring started and she'd go running instead, to save money. She was wrong to think she would. Now, the stairs were kicking her ass. She thanked God for her naturally slender frame. But maybe she had a little bit of a tummy. She blamed it all on the pizza they kept eating at rehearsal.

"Meow."

She looked at the cat that met her on the third floor. She had no idea there was a cat in her building. She was sure there was a no pet policy on the lease. Was he a stray? Oddly, enough he favored Morgana.

"Hey, you." She said and pet the feline. He purred deeply and fled up the stairs. She sighed. One more flight to go. As she finally made it up, she saw in the hallway a familiar face. He fiddled with the cat's ears and she wasn't confident it was him.

"Stop!" Morgana cried. "I think you're enjoying my torture too much!" The cat snapped.

Ann couldn't believe her eyes. She never thought she'd see the day. Akira was so – simple. He liked his coffee a certain way; dressed monochromatically and didn't even get a new pair of glasses when his frames broke; he just bought the exact same pair. Yet, there he was. He stood in front of her apartment door, with luggage, Morgana at his feet and a bouquet of red roses. He looked at her and that mischievous grin - his trademark of being Joker - seemed almost dreamlike.

"You're gonna just stand there? I'd like to tell you congratulations."

Ann slowly made her way to him and dropped her bag by his feet. Morgana shirked as it almost crushed his tail. After his narrow escape, he looked up to see his friends. Akira and Ann embraced one another and she cried tears of joy. "You saw the show."

"Yeah. We all did. We sat way in the back. You were spectacular."

"I didn't see you."

"You were so focused there's no one way you would have." She sniffled and tried hard to fight her tears. He ran his fingers through her long blonde locks. He moved a strand away from her face and pressed his forehead to hers, "Congratulations." She lost the battle, and the tears kept flowing. She didn't know how long he'd be with her, but him being there meant he wanted to be together; he wanted to try.

Together, with their friends, they saved the world once. They could make long distance work.

* * *

Ryuji drank his beer and walked around his hotel suite in his new 'I LOVE NYC' boxers. He sat down and flipped on Saturday Night Live. He hoped they'd get a chance to see it live, or a Broadway show, once Makoto finished her tour of law programs. He was excited. When he saw Ann acting, he felt such joy for her. Going after her dreams inspired him and helped him gain an understanding of his wife, who pursued her own dreams.

"Koto…" He called. The other Sakamoto was in the bathroom blow-drying her hair or so he thought. She had been in there for quite a while and though he wasn't worried, he did wonder why she refused to share a bottle of champagne with him. He complained a bit. They were in a nice suite in New York; wasn't champagne appropriate?

Makoto finally opened the bathroom door. She walked out in her robe and her eyes puffy. Ryuji looked at her, shocked and filled with concern. "God, did something happen?" She shook her head. "Are you mad with me for yelling at the bellhop? He had no business looking at your ass like that – I just put him in his place, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I still tipped him."

"No."

"Then…?"

"We're pregnant."

"We're what?" She nodded and Ryuji wasn't quite sure how to process that information. "But you're on the pill."

"I actually haven't been. I meant to change my prescription before we left...I just ran out of time with all the planning for our travels and the schools and - "

"Oh God. Oh God, baby, we're pregnant. We're – you're –"

"I want to keep it. Who said I couldn't do both, right?"

"Are you sure? This isn't for me – is it? Whatever you want to do, it's fine. I'll support you."

"I want to keep it. That woman on stage with Ann, I read her actor's bio. She's a single mother with a great job and put on that production herself. If she did that - alone – imagine what we can do together."

Ryuji stood up. He placed his beer on the nightstand and held his wife. They hugged each other tightly. It was the beginning of both their dreams come true.

* * *

Futaba stood on the balcony of her suite. Sure she was blowing through money by booking such an expensive room, but what did she care? She was jobless and had nothing to return to. Why not spend a little extra change on overpriced hotel champagne and a room with a view. It was chilly, but somehow, the New York spring wasn't as cool in the night as the streets of Shibuya. Or perhaps it was, but she had experienced so many things, she needed something to be different, but the same; familiar.

Yusuke lay on her bed. He planned on going back to his room after Ann's show, but somehow he ended up doing a few shots at the hotel bar and ordered more to drink by the time they made it to the room. He drank a lot more than he anticipated. He struggled to stand up straight but didn't want to admit it to her; himself. He held his hand over mouth; beads of cold sweat stuck to his pale skin. The bathroom was too far away. Would he make it?

Futaba made her way back in and helped him to his feet. It was a struggle as she was smaller, but one she'd go through, just for him. He made it to the toilet bowl and threw up so much he began to feel sorry for himself. Was he drinking this much to distract himself from his feelings for her? He sat on the warm tiled floor and rested his head against the toilet bowl. She stood by the door.

"Thanks." He told her.

"You would have done it for me."

"Futaba – I love you. I have for a long time, and I didn't want to say it and ruin things between us, but I can't go on like this, so I'm letting you know. I love you. I'm in love with you."

She stared at him. His back was to her, head rested against the toilet seat. The back of his head showing his dark, lengthy hair; they dusted his shoulders. She smiled.

"I know. Thank you." Nothing would change after that. They both agreed on it, silently, in the hotel bathroom.

* * *

Haru sat at the hotel bar, the only one there with a cup of coffee; iced; how coffee drinkers in New York announced spring. She fiddled around on her tablet, working. Though the evening was leisurely, she had much to do in the week she'd be there. She was glad she got to see Ann's last show; she rescheduled her flight to be able to travel with their friends. They made in just in time.

"Anything else, chica?" The bartender asked. She looked up at him and realized he was much younger than the man that served her previously. She heart skipped a beat. He was handsome with green eyes. His Spanish accent was heavy.

"No. I mean – unless you have some recommendations."

"Well, you seem to be working. So let's keep you sober with a refill?" She giggled. He smiled. His full lips parted and she was drawn in by pearly whites.

"Sure."

"Alright. This refill is on me." Haru pulled out her wallet as he took her glass. She placed a $100 bill by his hand, straighten her posture and twirled her fingers in her bouncy hair.

"I tip well." She said. He smiled, winked and headed off to refill her drink. As he disappeared to the kitchen, Haru exhaled; she didn't realize she was holding her breath. She giggled. "I still got it."

~ Fin


	7. Form of Habit (Sequel)

**Form of Habit**

"Are you ignoring my question, like you ignore my blatant feelings?"

"How?"

"Each time you ask, how you look - when you plan to go meet other men - is that not clear disregard for my romantic feelings for you?" Her word choice made no difference. He knew her well; he knew what she meant; he always knew.

"We don't have that sort of relationship." She discouraged him.

"Yet you live here, knowing I won't ask you to leave, and knowing you don't plan on returning my affections. Is that not disregard?"

"What is your problem?"

"Friday night rituals will not make you feel better, Futaba. If it did, you wouldn't ask me for reassurance every time you left your room."

"You're an asshole." She meant it.

"You're an asshole!" He also meant it.

"I'm an asshole! Really?!"

"Yes! Because I'm in love with you and you throw it in my face, then ignore me. You're an asshole."

Futaba regretted opening her mouth. She knew he never chose her side. She should have known he'd fight her about what she thought was best for her. Who was he? Merely a jealous man. He didn't know the extent of her heartbreak and the depths of its broken state – rather – she pretended he could never know; never understand.

"Fuck you, Yusuke."

"Of course." He returned to his book. He suspected no good would come of her asking, and he was right. He hated being right.

Futaba grabbed her things. Her keys jingled as she made her way through the door with a slam. Yusuke groaned loudly. In fighting with her, he was wrong as well. He hated that too.

A/n: Check out the conclusion to this trilogy, "Form of Habit"

Blankedty


End file.
